Larceny at the Library

by Colleen Shogan

  After crossing I-66, Clarence and I left the roadways for the Custis Trail, a popular urban bike and running path. Although it was built alongside the interstate, tall concrete barriers prevented traffic noise from ruining the tranquility of the experience. Clarence enjoyed the smells of the plethora of dogs who traversed the trail each day. If we moved away from Arlington, Clarence and I would both miss our morning runs on the Custis.

  Of course, relocation was out of the question if Doug was awaiting trial for the homicide of Gustav Gaffney. As we exited the trail in the Virginia Square neighborhood and turned toward the closure of our jogging loop, my mind drifted to weightier matters than real estate, namely murder. Gordon Endicott was at the top of my list, although I’d have to figure out how I’d manage to orchestrate an encounter with him. I wasn’t on staff at the Library of Congress and marching into the office of the chief Rare Books curator seemed brazen, even for me. Besides, if I appeared too eager, I’d likely cast suspicion back on Doug. That was the last thing I wanted to do.

  It would be easier to start with Congressman Henry Chang. I’d ask to speak with Maeve Dixon first thing this morning and see if she could get me a few minutes with her esteemed colleague. Sergeant O’Halloran had made it abundantly clear he wasn’t touching Chang with a ten-foot pole. What if he was the guilty party? There was no way I was going to let Chang pin this whole sordid mess on Doug or another innocent person simply because he was an elected official. Wasn’t Lady Justice often depicted wearing a blindfold, depicting impartiality in judgment without regard to status, wealth, or privilege? I vaguely remembered such a detail from my college art history course. Who would have known? A liberal arts education was valuable after all.

  I’d had no time yesterday to speak with Janice Jackson, the head of the congressional relations office. Meg mentioned she should be kept on the suspect list. Since Meg worked closely with Janice, maybe my B.F.F. could help broker an opportunity for the three of us to talk.

  That left Lea Rutherford, the wealthy donor who was allegedly having an affair with Joe Malden, the Library’s lawyer. I definitely didn’t run in the same circles as her. That might prove the most difficult nut to crack. When I mentioned her name to Malden, he’d clammed up faster than a Trappist monk. I’d have better luck getting Clarence to talk to me. I’d better stew on that one.

  We arrived back at the condo and soon found ourselves in the warm comfort of our kitchen. A few minutes later, Clarence had eaten his breakfast and I was enjoying a freshly brewed latte, which I’d made with the assistance of our industrial strength espresso machine. Doug was sitting at the kitchen table, enjoying his own cafe and reading the Washington Post on his iPad.

  “Gustav’s death and the theft made the front page of the paper,” said Doug glumly.

  “With good reason. It’s not every day in Washington a leader of a cultural institution gets bashed over the head and a priceless treasure has gone missing.”

  “Well, when you put it that way, Kit.” Doug eked out a tight smile.

  “Does the Post say if the police have any suspects in mind?” I looked over his head to get a glimpse of the article on his tablet.

  “There was some mumbo-gumbo about the police pursuing several promising leads,” said Doug. “Just a flak making up stuff to cover up the fact that law enforcement has no idea what happened.”

  I massaged Doug’s shoulders. “Don’t worry. The authorities may not have a clue about what’s going on, but I have a few ideas up my sleeve.”

  Doug looked at my arm. “Right now, all you have up your sleeve is a doggie cleanup bag for Clarence.”

  I looked at the bulge on my right arm. Doug was right. I often stuffed bags up my sleeve so I’d be ready if Clarence did number two on our jogs.

  I shook my finger. “That’s because I haven’t put my sleuthing hat on. But once I do, I’ll have a lot more in store.”

  Doug chuckled and returned his gaze to reading the news. “I have no doubt, Kit.”

  I dashed into the shower and pondered what to wear for the day. I had no idea what I might confront. Would the day be spent fulfilling my traditional duties as a chief of staff or would I focus more on solving the murder? In the end, I’d do what my boss wanted me to do.

  Given the uncertainty, there was only one option. I veered toward a section of our walk-in closet saved for my black suits. There was only one outfit for women which pretty much covered all possible engagements or situations, and that was the black pantsuit. Most industries were leaning toward more casual work clothes, yet Capitol Hill was largely immune to such changes. Ann Taylor and Tahari were doing just fine in Washington. Over the years, I’d purchased a number of black suits in a variety of styles. All could be accessorized, either with a flashy or conservative top or appropriate jewelry. For today, I picked out a fitted two-button jacket, pants with a bit of stretch, and a pretty red popover blouse. No matter what happened, at least I’d be dressed appropriately and comfortably.

  Doug was heading into the shower as I was leaving. Given that I had no idea how late I’d be tonight, I told him he was stuck with the Metro because I was taking the Prius. Unfortunately, traffic on a Thursday morning when Congress and the rest of the federal government was operating full tilt was never a pleasant experience. I opted for the scenic Memorial Bridge ride into the District of Columbia since I preferred the monuments to the concrete of I-395. But the blasted work on the historic bridge continued, making the ride move at a snail’s pace. Literally. Clarence and I were slow joggers, and I knew we could have made it across the bridge faster.

  Thirty minutes later, I parked my car underneath the congressional office buildings and reported for duty soon thereafter. I never beat Maeve Dixon to work. Her military habits stuck with her. She was early to appear at the office and even earlier to the gym. In particular, her exercise regimen had served her well. It was partially through the relationships she made at the congressional gym that she became a committee chair so quickly. Politics was dominated by men, and Maeve Dixon knew where to find them, namely trying to do pull-ups and master the bench press. I never saw her in action during these workout sessions, but I imagined she played her cards right. Just athletic enough to gain respect from her peers but stopping short of showing powerful people (of the masculine variety) they were comparatively out of shape. It was a good recipe for success in our nation’s capital.

  I sat down at my desk and logged onto my computer. Over a hundred email messages awaited my reply. This was always the problem when I had to focus on crime solving inside the United States Capitol. My real job didn’t stop. As best as I could, I worked my way through the pile of inquiries. Most messages were forwarded to Meg or other Dixon staffers. Curious enough, there was an email from Library of Congress lawyer and baseball aficionado Joe Malden. I clicked on it and learned that Joe wanted chat later today, perhaps around eleven. Without a second thought, I hit reply and told him I’d be there. I wasn’t sure if Joe qualified as a suspect, but his connection to Lea Rutherford could be critical.

  It was almost nine o’clock. All congressional offices would be open for business, so it was an appropriate time to bug Maeve Dixon about getting me an appointment with Henry Chang.

  Patsy sat at her desk, staring at the computer screen with a pained expression.

  “If you look too long like that, your face will freeze,” I said lightly to our scheduler.

  Patsy jumped and grabbed her glasses before they fell off her face. “Kit, you startled me.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “But you seemed in such anguish. I had to interrupt it.”

  “Oh, that.” Patsy waved aimlessly at her computer monitor. “As usual, Congresswoman Dixon has to be in three places at once this afternoon. I’m trying to figure out how to make it happen.”

  “You can work magic better than Hermione Granger,” I said. “I’m sure it will work out.” Patsy was a big fan of the J.K
. Rowling books and Hermione was her favorite, a preference we shared.

  Patsy blushed. “You’re too kind. What can I help you with this morning?”

  “I need to see Maeve,” I said. “The sooner, the better.”

  “Go right on in. She’s not on the phone and her first appointment doesn’t start for another thirty minutes.”

  That was easy. Even though I was Dixon’s chief of staff, since she became a committee chair, it was harder and harder to secure one-on-one time with her, especially if it wasn’t scheduled ahead. The casual days of nonchalance had ended.

  Dixon was sitting behind her desk, reading on her computer. She liked to peruse the Washington Post and New York Times in the morning, along with the local papers Politico and Roll Call. If she had enough time, she’d move onto the Wall Street Journal. I couldn’t tell immediately how far she’d gotten this morning, but I had a feeling her reading had been unusually focused on the crime pages.

  “Good morning, Madame Chair,” I said politely.

  “Kit, I’m glad you stopped by.” She motioned to the chair in front of her desk. “Do you have any news to report about the Library of Congress?” She looked me straight in the eye.

  “Yes, we know a few more facts. Gustav Gaffney was killed the night before, not yesterday morning when his body was discovered.”

  “By your husband, correct?” she asked.

  “Yes, that’s right.” No point in masking the truth.

  “I suppose the police will chase down alibis. Anything else to report?”

  “I’m learning more about the people who attended the preview the night Gaffney died. I learned yesterday that the rare books librarian might have the connections necessary to move such valuable stolen items.”

  Maeve’s countenance brightened. “Check him out today. See if he had a reason to engage in a major theft.”

  “I can try,” I said. “I also learned that the Library’s top lawyer is having an affair with one of their most generous donors. They were both at the event I attended the night Gaffney died.”

  Maeve pursed her lips. “It might be relevant, if one of them persuaded the other to do it. Is that all?”

  “There’s one other suspect I’d like to discuss with you ma’am, but it’s sensitive.”

  Dixon straightened in her high-backed office chair. “What is it? Or rather, who is it?”

  “Henry Chang,” I said.

  “As in the member of Congress?” asked Dixon, her eyes widening.

  “Yes, that’s him. He was at the event on Tuesday night and apparently, he’s quite an aficionado of all things historical.”

  Maeve’s forehead wrinkled. “Why was Henry at the event on Tuesday when we had an invitation-only showing the next day, arranged especially for Congress?”

  “I believe someone said he had a conflict with the Wednesday morning time, ma’am. But I intend to ask him that question, amongst others.”

  Maeve sighed. “I suppose it’s not unprecedented to question an elected official about involvement in a crime. I can have Patsy patch me through to him. I’ll insist he make time to meet with you. Is this morning convenient?”

  “The sooner, the better,” I said. “I have an appointment to chat with the Library of Congress chief lawyer at eleven.”

  “The one who’s having an affair with the rich woman?” she asked.

  “Yes, although I think they’re both unattached, so it’s really not an affair. I shouldn’t have characterized it that way.”

  “Maybe I should start hanging out at the Library of Congress,” said Maeve. “Apparently, it’s the place for romance.”

  I chuckled. My boss was attractive and single. That combination was not exceedingly rare in Washington. But the amount of time she spent on her job in Congress meant she had almost no opportunity for a social life. Success didn’t happen without tradeoffs, although I suspected Maeve could fit in romance if she really wanted to do so.

  I had just gotten up to leave when Maeve called back. “Kit, before you go, don’t forget to keep Miriam Dunlap apprised of the situation.”

  I nodded. “I’ll try to fit in a meeting with her later today. Hopefully, I’ll have something worthwhile to report.”

  It was time to do the rounds and talk to everyone on Team Dixon. If running for office was a sprint, then running an office was a marathon. New challenges and obstacles presented themselves on a daily basis. To that end, we’d assembled a competent team who tried their hardest for the people in North Carolina our boss had been elected to represent. All in all, I couldn’t ask for much more.

  I was going to start with Meg, but I didn’t quite make it to her cubicle. Instead, our press secretary intercepted my path. Given the narrowness of the aisles in our office space, it wasn’t difficult for him to prevent my forward progress.

  “I need to speak with you,” he said.

  “I can see that, Kyle.” I motioned toward his workspace. “Please have a seat and tell me what’s going on.”

  In his mid-twenties, Kyle had a bright future ahead of him as a communications professional in Washington, D.C. Like many flacks, he tended toward the high-strung end of the spectrum. His mood literally depended on the press cycle, and every word uttered about Maeve Dixon that didn’t meet his standards was a disaster of epic proportions. Kyle would eventually calm down after a few more years of seasoned experience. Unfortunately, by the time he did, he’d probably already have moved on to a more lucrative position outside Congress. Our salaries couldn’t compete with K Street, so we had to rely upon talent who believed in public service.

  Kyle did as he was told, straightening his skinny tie as he sat down in his ergonomically correct office chair. Millennials were no slouches, pun intended.

  “This murder business at the Library of Congress is a real press nightmare,” he said, motioning toward his iPhone. “We’re trying to move Dixon’s legislative agenda at the beginning of the year and instead, I’m answering questions about when and how this bureaucrat Gus was killed.”

  “Let’s get a few facts straight, Kyle.” I tried to keep my voice calm. “His name was Gustav Gaffney, not Gus. He was the Assistant Librarian of Congress, and I doubt he’d be too concerned that his murder is a press problem for you.”

  Kyle’s face turned red. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “I shouldn’t have been so insensitive.”

  “It’s okay. Consider it a valuable lesson learned.”

  He cleared his throat. “Keeping in mind there was a loss of life, I’m worried about the press on this.”

  “Understood,” I said. “Please tell me about it.”

  “Of course, all the major news outlets are covering it, given the location and the theft associated with the murder,” he explained. “But the Capitol Hill papers are getting at the congressional angle.”

  “Which ones?” I asked. “Roll Call? The Hill?” No wonder Maeve had been glued to her computer monitor.

  “Yes, and more.” He consulted his phone. “Capitol Hill Times, Washingtonian, Washington Examiner, and Hill Rag. I’m not even telling you about the blogs.”

  “I guess it makes sense. It’s the biggest crime to occur on Capitol Hill since…” I paused.

  “You mean since the last murder you were involved in.”

  “Yeah, right. I hope that’s not getting into the press.” It was never a good sign when Capitol Hill staff made headlines.

  “Not yet, but Maeve Dixon’s connection to this crime is a direct one given her position as chair of the relevant committee,” he said. “Right now, everyone is focused on the salacious details of the murder itself. But if this goes unsolved, pretty soon reporters are going to need to advance the story, and an obvious place to start would be Maeve Dixon and what she’s doing to make sure the guilty party is caught.”

  “Of course. I’m running point for her on this, servi
ng as a liaison between the Librarian of Congress and the investigating sergeant from the police. Does that help?”

  “For now, that’s sufficient. If I start getting questions, I can offer up a statement about Dixon getting daily reports on the progress. But that will only satisfy them for so long. Understand?”

  I got Kyle’s point. Monitoring a situation was an acceptable answer for a news cycle or two. It wouldn’t work if this dragged on and no one was apprehended.

  “Listen, I’m making some inquiries today about the murder, so let’s hope it will get solved quickly. I’ll let you know if there’s a big break in the case.”

  Kyle nodded. “Be careful, Kit.”

  I heard that phrase so often I should just give in and have it tattooed on my forehead. I managed a weak smile. “Thanks, Kyle. I will.”

  I’d turned the corner to talk to our legislative team when I heard Meg’s voice. “Kit, is that you?”

  “Yes,” I said, appearing inside Meg’s cubicle. “Here I am.”

  Very few congressional staff had private offices on Capitol Hill. The quarters were so tight, even more senior aides like Meg typically worked inside partially enclosed workspaces. Given Meg’s position as legislative director, she had a larger space than most. She’d chosen to decorate it tastefully, adding a small lamp, colorful accessories, and modular organizing bins. A limited number of photos were tacked to the side wall, including pictures of Meg with myself, Trevor, and of course, Clay Donovan. Meg’s indecision over her love life had spilled into her cubicle decor.

  “How was your dinner last night with Sebastian’s police officer girlfriend?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.

  “How was your happy hour with Clay and friends?” I countered.

  We stared at each other in a mini-standoff. After a few seconds, we both laughed. “You go first,” said Meg.